From a drawing by Isaac Cruikshank, 1791
SUMMER AMUSEMENTS AT FARMER GEORGE'S
The reason for the unpopularity of the Court may be traced, not to the King's lack of appreciation of what was best in art and letters, not even to his stupidity, but to the lack of wisdom in the sovereigns who, in their zeal for reform, carried their love of decorum to excess (although the Queen's Puritanism was not so deep but that she could for her own ends aid and abet such a frail, designing baggage as Lady Jersey[215]), and to a parsimony unpardonable when exercised in conjunction with a large Civil List.[216] Their miserly tendencies were noted and commented upon with disgust at the Queen's first party, given on November 26, 1762, a "gingerbread affair," which, including the ladies-and-gentlemen-in-waiting, did not consist of more than a baker's dozen of couples. On this occasion, though dancing began before seven o'clock and went on uninterrupted till long after midnight, there was no supper, an omission that furnished Lord Chesterfield with the opportunity for a bon-mot in a subsequent conversation as to possible additions to the peerage on the King's next birthday. "I suppose," said some one, "there will be no dukes made." "Oh, yes," said Lord Chesterfield, "there is to be one. Lord Talbot is to be created Duke Humphrey, and there is to be no table kept at Court but his!" Those who attended the royal functions fully appreciated this reference to "dining with Duke Humphrey"; and Peter Pindar voiced the public feeling in his "Odes to Kien Long":
"The pocket is a very serious matter,
Small beer allayeth thirst—nay, simple water.
The splendour of a chase, or feast, or ball,
Though strong, are passing momentary rays—
The lustre of a little hour; that's all—
While guineas with eternal splendour blaze."
The lack of hospitality shown to those who attended at Court was combined with an equal penury in connexion with those who were summoned to amuse the royal circle, and of some disgraceful examples of this unroyal miserliness Peter Pindar again is the historian.
"For, not long since, I heard a forward dame
Thus, in a tone of impudence, exclaim,
Good God! how kings and queens a song adore!
With what delight they order an encore!
When that same song, encor'd, for nothing flows!
This Madam Mara to her sorrow knows!
To Windsor oft, and eke to Kew,
The r-y-l mandate Mara drew.
No cheering drop the dame was asked to sip—
No bread was offer'd to her quivering lip:
Though faint, she was not suffer'd to sit down—
Such was the goodness—grandeur of the crown.
Now tell me, will it ever be believ'd,
How much for song and chaise-hire she receiv'd?[Pg 201]
How much pray, think ye? Fifty guineas. 'No.'
Most surely forty. 'No, no.' Thirty. 'Poh!
Pray, guess in reason, come again!'—
Alas! you jeer us!—twenty at the least;
No man could ever be so great a b—st
As not to give her twenty for her pain.—
'To keep you, then, no longer in suspense,
For Mara's chaise-hire and unrivall'd note,
Out of their wonderful benevolence,
Their bounteous M——ies gave—not a groat.'"[217]
The pecuniary treatment accorded to Madame Mara was meted out also to Mrs. Siddons, who, appointed preceptress in English reading to the Princesses, but without salary,[218] was summoned frequently to read or recite at Court, and came out of the palace "as rich as she went in."
"Such are the stories twain! Why, grant the fact,
Are princes, pray, like common folks to act?
Should Mara call it cruelty, and blame
Such r-y-l conduct, I'd cry, Fie upon her!
To Mrs. Siddons freely say the same,
Sufficient for such people is the honour."[219]